


conversations had with people that don't exist

by snasational



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crosstale | XTale (Undertale), Drabble Collection, Gen, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:56:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29131425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snasational/pseuds/snasational
Summary: Cross has made many mistakes. Sometimes, they talk to him.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 55





	1. Asriel

**Author's Note:**

> characterization practice in the form of drabbles!

The young prince had an odd obsession with buttercups. It was prevalent his entire childhood. Cross remembers it like it was yesterday, how he’d have his entire bedroom decorated with the flowers. Cross thought it was weird, but Papyrus always thought of them as neat. Although, Frisk and Asriel were their first friends, and because of that Papyrus thought  _ everything  _ they did was neat. 

He never did find out why those flowers meant so much to him. Cross didn’t care back then. And when they got to the surface, the skeleton brothers sort of drifted away from Asriel. He always had much more important matters to tend too. Cross understood, even if Papyrus didn’t. Asriel was a prince, and princes have to do lots of time consuming things. 

Cross walks through the small garden in Nightmare’s courtyard and thinks back to the monster prince. The yellow flowers that bloom aren’t buttercups; they aren’t even the right shade of yellow to begin with. Would Asriel have liked them, if he was in this garden with him? 

“I don’t know.” Asriel answers him. “The buttercups are definitely prettier.” 

Cross jumps. At his side stands Asriel. He’s tall, almost as tall as his father, and towers above the garden. The look on his face is thoughtful. 

“Daffodils.” He tells Cross. “They’re Daffodils.”

“Oh.” Cross says like he isn’t talking to a ghost. “How did you know?” 

“The shape of them. See how that middle part kind of like, extends out?” Cross nods. “That’s totally different from a buttercup. I don’t think they’d grow here, wherever we are.” 

“Well. Sorry dude, that sucks.” And he means it when he says it. Asriel adores buttercups. But the prince doesn’t look too upset about it. Instead, he shrugs and offers a lopsided smile. 

“Sometimes you don’t get to have the things you want. And that’s okay. You just have to learn to appreciate what life has given you instead.” 

If there’s a deeper meaning here, Cross isn’t getting it. “What’s with your buttercup obsession, anyways? You’ve had it since we were little.” 

“Truthfully? I’m not sure. Whenever I look at them, I feel like I’m looking at someone who I lost. And they’re coming back to me in the form of a flower. If that makes sense?” 

“I guess.” No. Not really. Cross stares at the Daffodils for a bit longer. It evokes no particular emotion in him. “Wouldn’t looking at them all day make you feel sad, since that person isn’t there?” 

Asriel shakes his head. “No. It made me feel closer to them. Like they were by my side, right where they belonged. I...miss that person, when I’m not around buttercups. I’ve never seen their face before, and yet I yearn to see it so very badly. It’s as if there’s a hole in my chest in their shape.” 

Now that is something Cross understands on a deeper level. He offers the monster a sympathetic smile. “I hope you find them one day.”

Asriel returns the gesture. He looks saddened. Cross understands that too. There’s always a sadness in him, one that he can’t escape no matter how hard he tries. He has lost everything, and has made more enemies than friends. He’s sure if Asriel still existed, he wouldn’t be so kind with Cross. 

“And I hope that you find peace with your life.”


	2. Asgore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ghost of a king offers Cross a lesson on guilt. It's a shame that youth is wasted on the young.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a love/hate relationship with Asgore. I think killing a bunch of little kids is inexcusable yet he's certainly a complex character. Xtale Asgore never had to take the lives of children, but someone as old as him is sure to have some advice on guilt lol.

Cross does not like tea. 

The smell of it, the taste of it, and the look of it is all enough to make him feel sick. Many people in his life love tea, but for some reason Cross never could stomach the taste. It didn’t matter what kind of tea he was given; he’d always end up sitting it out. 

Most of his friends and family had found this trait disgusting.  _ Especially  _ his father. But the King had never been like that. The very first time he spat tea up in front of him, Asgore had laughed like it was the funniest thing to ever happen. And then he gave him a glass of chocolate milk and helped Cross clean up. 

It was one of the few times he’d ever personally interacted with him, and Cross recounts it with fondness. Asgore truly was a gentle soul. He didn’t deserve what happened. 

None of them did. 

Cross stares down at his tea and contemplates this. It’s a cold brew, meant to be served with ice and nothing else. Horror has been trying to introduce him to different flavors, but no matter how many kinds he tries it all ends up the same. 

“Perhaps you should take a small sip instead.” Asgore advises. “We do not want another repeat from last time.” 

First the prince, and now the king. Cross frowns. “I was eight.” He reminds him. 

Asgore laughs warmly. He sits across from him, his hands folded atop of the table as he watches Cross with a fond expression. He’s never aged, and he has always kept that paternal aura about him no matter what. As a child, Cross wished he was his dad. Frisk and Asriel had it lucky. But that was a childish jealousy which was the product of an emotionally distant father. Blaming them was unfair in the long run. 

“Indeed. But, from the looks of it, things have not changed with you.” 

That is a lie. Many things have changed. His entire life, his entire personality. Nothing about him is the same. And it will never be the same, either. Asgore can never understand this because Asgore doesn’t exist anymore. 

Cross shrugs. “Tea is gross. I think my body just kind of rejects it, I can’t help that.” 

“No. I suppose not.” He adopts a more somber tone. “The way we react to things is sometimes out of our control.” 

The ice has begun to melt. If he waits much longer, his tea is going to be watery and Horror would’ve wasted his time by making it. On top of that, if he didn’t like it before he certainly wouldn’t like it watered down. 

“Yeah.” He agrees without really believing it. 

“Do you regret it?” He asks softly.

Cross doesn’t have to ask to know what he’s talking about. “Of course. I don’t go a second without thinking about it.” 

“Someone so young should not wallow in guilt.”

What would Asgore know? He doesn’t have dust on his hands. He isn’t the cause for their world’s destruction. Asgore knows nothing about carrying this kind of guilt and the emotional turmoil that comes with it. 

“Dude, age has nothing to do with it.” Cross says, a bit peeved. 

“I believe it does more than you think, Sans.” 

Cross tenses. Sans.  _ Sans. _ He hates that name. A grim reminder of who he used to be and what he lost. Cross is not Sans. He never wants to be called by the name ever again. Asgore seems to notice his mistake because he tilts his head and gives an apologetic smile. 

“This will consume you.” He gently warns. “All of your thoughts will be consumed by the past. You can’t grow like this.” 

He stares down at his tea with a scowl. “I deserve it.” 

Asgore watches sadly as he takes a tentative sip. The reaction is instantaneous; Cross sputters and spits it out everywhere. It splatters against the table and darkens the white table cloth. Nightmare is going to kill him if that stains. All he can focus on is the sickeningly sweet taste in his mouth. This was a mistake, there’s no way he can ever build up a tolerance to this. Through his choking, he barely makes out the ghost’s next words. 

“Nobody deserves this kind of suffering. Everyone can be redeemed, if given the chance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cross acting like talking to hallucinations is normal is a mood. can i say that if i'm the one that wrote it????


	3. Toriel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cross takes on a repair job and Toriel is an excellent teacher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh toriel, how I love you~ 
> 
> I love the way Jakei draws and portrays her. My favorite furry mommy 😩 Anyways! Enjoy this new addition uwu

There’s a hole in his jacket. 

He doesn’t even like the damned thing. It’s too hot. It’s too heavy. It’s hard to put on and take off. It looks tacky as hell. It’s white so it gets stained easily. Truly, an awful abomination of a jacket. But whenever the thought of throwing it away comes up he vehemently shoves it down. It was a gift, it was his passage into the Royal Guard. The evidence of all of his hard work, even if nobody outside of his universe would recognize it. 

So if it’s torn or stained in any way he’s going to try his hardest to make sure it’s fixed. Which to be honest is easier said than done. Cross has never had to fix anything before. Needles and thread and sewing are all completely foriegn to him and he’d rather die than ask for anybody’s help. Knowing the people in this castle, they’d probably just make fun of him for it. 

But not asking for help means he’s lost. And in pain too. The tip of this horrible needle has stabbed his fingers so many times he’s about ready to start a riot. Worst of all, this threading job is awful. How is he supposed to wear this when it looks like it was stitched up by a frankenstein cosplayer? 

“There are easier ways to go about this, my friend.” Comes the soft voice of Toriel. Cross flinches at the sound and jabs the needle straight into his thumb. 

“Ow! Fuck!” He hisses. 

Toriel, who’s materialized right beside him, blinks. “My! Your language has certainly gotten loose, Sans. Your friends must be rubbing off on you. A shame, you were such a well mannered child.”

Cross grumbles and puts his wounded thumb in his mouth. “Blame Killer, my queen. Dude cusses like a sailor.” 

She tsks. “You are responsible for your own actions. Blaming others does not lessen that fact. I’m sure you’re aware of this.” 

More than she could ever imagine. He stares at his sloppy repair job and sighs. 

“I remember when you’d always fix me and Pap’s clothes. You made it look so easy.” Cross reminisces. She was always the best at making the repairs look invisible. Good as brand new, as she’d always say. 

“I’m a very old monster.” Toriel giggles. “I’ve stitched more clothes than you could imagine. Although between you and Frisk, I certainly had my hands full! You played so rough, even when you got older.” 

It’s more like their games involved a lot more violence than she might’ve previously thought. Like the rock throwing game, where they counted who dodged the most rocks before getting hit. Not that she needs to know about it now. Cross is certain the last thing she wants to hear about is how her son’s murderer threw rocks at him in their childhood. 

“Yeah...sorry about that.” He sheepishly rubs at his neck. 

“No need to apologize. I loved fixing things for you children. It is...regrettable, how things turned out. But I can truly tell you’ve given yourself enough grief over it. There’s such a thing as taking  _ too  _ much responsibility, you know.” 

“My queen…” he trails off, unsure on what to say. He disagrees with her vehemently, but there’s no way in hell he’d tell her that. Toriel is one of the few people he respects with everything in his being, and his loyalty to her trumps all others. 

“You father,” she begins. Cross recoils at the mention of Gaster, unprepared for the wave of pain that it hits him with. But she continues, strong and steady. “He was not a very good person. Even before he...well. He holds most of the blame for what happened, Sans. Not everything is on your shoulders.”

“But I killed you.” He whispers. 

The LV courses through his marrow, an agonizing reminder. He dreamed of being a hero when he was little and now he runs with the wolves, a cold blooded killer. 

“You killed everyone.” Toriel points out. There is no anger on her face, just a calm acceptance. “But do not forget, we tried to kill you as well.” 

How could he? The feeling of betrayal as his brother and friends turned on something so one he’ll never forget for as long as he lives. He bunches the fabric of his jacket in his fists. He loved them. He still does. Even Papyrus. 

_ Especially _ Papyrus. 

“I deserved it.” 

“Children should not be blamed for the sins of their parents.” 

He doesn’t respond, so instead Cross begins pulling the thread from his jacket. He’s got to restart for the third time and if he continues stalling he won’t be finished until late into the night. Toriel observes. 

“No, no, my child. You’re threading too far apart. Try again. You’ll want to make the thread invisible.” She begins guiding him, their earlier conversation fading away into the back of his mind as he focuses on her teaching. 

**Author's Note:**

> twitter is @ snasational

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Begging](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29696676) by [MimiIvory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MimiIvory/pseuds/MimiIvory)
  * [Fragments](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29715975) by [MimiIvory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MimiIvory/pseuds/MimiIvory)




End file.
